I love the term ‘politically incorrect’, the word-collective expressing a requirement to adhere to certain norms of civility and respectability. It is also rather confuddling because of all people notorious for making statements, which are as far detached from reason as tea leaf reading is from science, most happen to be politicos and lawmakers, people who one expects to generally display a certain composure of sanity.

But then, given how sensibility is not a part of the definition of ‘politically correct’, I guess it’s only natural that the most classic gaffes come from the circles that ru(i)n our nation.

Recently we had a politician claim that Darwin had it all wrong, as man certainly didn’t evolve from apes. For proof, he reproduced hard facts, like folklore of the ‘someone once told a friend who told me’ variety. It’s hard to refute such gripping evidence. His empirical logic was that since none of our ancestors ever saw, or mentioned, an ape turn into a man, clearly the theory of evolution was flawed at a very basic level of assumption.

Remember, cannabis was all the legal rage back then, so if you haven’t seen an ape turn into a man even when stoned (and these are the same ancestors who recorded God’s shooting arrow that turned into snakes!), then surely no such thing ever happened. Darwin was clearly a fool who lost his mind observing birds on remote islands whereas this chap has, instead, completed some unspoken-of doctorate while also serving in the police force.

This is the same ex-commissioner who dissed any girl who decided to get married in a pair of jeans: popular claim is that his argument stemmed from sanskaar. I, however, believe that the conglomerate of top Indian wedding designers — from Sabyasachi to Valaya and Tahiliani — paid this chap to make sure that lehengas never go out of style.

But it’s not just him, and in case one thought that our apex bodies of law weren’t corruptible, or immune to illogic, not too long ago we had a judge claim that peacocks mate through tears. I laughed so hard that I cried but then I felt guilty and feckless, unsure whether I was enjoying an intimate moment in public, just like them dirty peacock slags.

I also simultaneously wondered if saas-bahu shows were nothing but prime time peacock porn, all those multiple tears flying about on the screen and what not. Further research on said judge’s part yielded facts like cow urine is utterly divine, so good for wrinkles and anti-ageing it remains a surprise that L’Oreal hasn’t set up camp at all our annual cattle fairs and monopolised the market for skincare.

I bet it was mostly on account of the alleged 330 million precise gods and goddesses living allegedly inside very single bovine body. Judge’s words, not mine. As a bachelor I’ve lived in Mumbai and, even to me, this sounded like a tight squeeze unless these are all gods of (very) small things. Nowadays, I approach newspapers like a child approaches a dying insect, with curiosity but also with fear. One never knows what novel jism of (mis)information will squirt out at you from the pages within, obfuscating the eye of reason and logic. As if the world is running out of stupid things to make fun of, the foremost citizens of our country offer up such prime beef for the world’s picking, it’s a social service that no one asked for.

For a country that built the Taj Mahal and the Stupas, gave the world the decimal system and performed the first cosmetic surgeries, these ministers and judges are the new wave of evolution.

A fetching example really, except that instead of exhibiting how man gradually yet continually evolved forth from apes, these chaps are proof that humans can (and do) regress into monkeys!